


Sugar, Take the Time

by intentioncraft



Series: It's Gonna Be Better [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Dom Cain, Dom/sub, M/M, Sex Toys, Sub Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 03:24:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3594534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intentioncraft/pseuds/intentioncraft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean always smells like his work, like spring and petals and clipped stems, right down to his naked skin. That clear, almost minty scent of chlorophyll, that always brings Cain back to the first time Dean entered his tattoo shop, to the first time Dean hovered close to his shoulder as he worked on a sketch for a client. To the first time Dean drew close, much too close for it to mean anything else but what Cain had been thinking about, fantasizing about for weeks in the hazy moments of half-sleep, and said the words that would bring them, eventually, to every moment between them, good and bad, that followed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar, Take the Time

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to finally write porn for this 'verse. lol. this would occur some time after part 1, but that's all i've got in terms of time line. not beta'd. 
> 
> also, dean's right: it is fairly vanilla. but it has to be for ~reasons.

Dean always smells like his work, like spring and petals and clipped stems, right down to his naked skin. That clear, almost minty scent of chlorophyll, that always brings Cain back to the first time Dean entered his tattoo shop, to the first time Dean hovered close to his shoulder as he worked on a sketch for a client. To the first time Dean drew close, much too close for it to mean anything else but what Cain had been thinking about, fantasizing about for weeks in the hazy moments of half-sleep, and said the words that would bring them, eventually, to every moment between them, good and bad, that followed.

It’s a sweet smell, a sweet taste that Cain inhales through his mouth and nose, Dean’s discarded t-shirt pressed to his face.

“You done being weird?”

Cain smiles faintly, senses dizzying him for a moment and he forgets where he is, what he’s doing, but never who he’s with. He speaks chidingly, “I’m starting to regret not gagging you.”

He’s glad he left the lamp at his bedside on, and only the lamp. The lights in his bedroom are too harsh, too white, too washed out, but the soft yellow-golden glow seeping from beneath the lampshade is perfect, warm, and if he looks to the wall, casts the most gorgeous shadows of the two of then: Dean laying on his back, and Cain kneeling at his feet.

Using the bedroom — which was Dean’s shy but earnest suggestion when they sat down to talk about this — was a good one.

Dean makes no sound but his apology is clear by the way he relaxes and leans his head back on the pillow, blindfold twitching where his eyelashes blink against the fabric. When he tied it around Dean’s head, Cain half expected Dean to drop immediately, but it seems he’d taken their agreement to heart this time, being honest about his hard and soft limits.

Cain considers Dean’s arms, laying out on the bed without much purpose. His palms are up and his fingers curled to the ceiling. Cain doesn’t like changing plans on the fly, especially with Dean, but he can see a lot of energy being lost if Dean has nothing to do with his hands, so he takes a chance, “I won’t bind you, but would it be too much if I asked you to hold onto the bars of the headboard?”

Dean replies by lifting his arms above his head, knuckles bumping into the metal bars before wrapping his hands around them, “Nah, that’s fine,” he speaks with a careful ease that gives Cain pause.

“You’re sure?”

“I promise, it’s fine,” Dean repeats, and this time he adds a frail chuckle, too, “As long as you leave my feet alone, I’m good.”

Nodding, even though Dean can’t see him, Cain walks on his knees up the bed and places his hand on the inside of Dean’s closed thighs, hot, supple, and soft with the lightest dust of hair, pulling a sharp breath from him.

“Cold hands. My apologies.”

Dean laughs, “No problem,” he opens his legs, bends his knees, and digs his heels into the mattress so Cain has the room he needs to work, “That good?”

“That’s excellent,” he confirms and rewards Dean with a gentle stroke down the soft skin of his sac. Dean quivers at the lightest of touches, responsive and fully engaged in the moment. The air in the room seems to heat up in an instant, sweat springing up on Cain’s collarbone as he watches the muscles in Dean’s thighs tighten reflexively.

Throat drying quickly, he manages to say, “Remind me of what we’re going to do, Dean.”

Dean tongue flicks over his plush lower lip to wet it, a intentional move if Cain’s learning him right, and says, “You’re gonna open me with toys, and I’m gonna be patient.”

Cain’s already reaching for the first toy on his left, a small black dildo that’s barely the width of his ring fingers put together. As he preps it with lube, conscious of the way Dean goes silent and still, listening to every small noise, he says “And?”

“And we’ll see how vanilla we can be?”

Cain laughs softly. It’s probably a sign of him going soft, losing his touch, but he’s glad of the way Dean’s starting to get irreverent and cheeky with him, “Correct. And I want to see how wet you can get without coming, and without my cock,” he adds, "Make as much or as little noise as you like. Just don't come until I say you can."

“Yes, sir,” Dean’s lips turn up in a smirk.

His expression is promptly replaced by an O shape when Cain wedges the head of the dildo between the curve of his asscheeks, bumping against his tightly closed, slicked up entrance. He'd asked Dean to do some prep beforehand, and he can tell that he did as asked by how he takes it: The tip of the dildo breaches him, swallowed quickly, greedily. Dean’s breath catches, ribs rising and falling erratically, but gradually settling back into a more even pattern as he gathers his wits. Cain holds the toy steady in one hand, his other spread out just beside Dean’s belly button, watching Dean’s cock closely for any sign of movement.

He knows this one is far too small for Dean, who needs no time at all to adapt, but this is about patience and composure, and they’ve only just begun.

“How does that feel?” Cain asks.

“Good, nice,” Dean replies, “Relaxing.”

Cain looks up at Dean’s face. He _is_ relaxed, expression soft and sleepy, arms threaded limply between the bars of the bed. He’s seen Dean like this before, but it usually doesn’t happen until after, “Don’t fall asleep on me.”

“Mm,” Dean mumbles coyly, “Then give me something to keep me awake.”

 _Bold_ , Cain thinks, but the sound of Dean’s voice, his honesty, his fearless desire, is encouraging. Two, three easy thrusts later and he pulls the black dildo out and sets it on the towel to his right. Dean’s hole closes up immediately, just slightly redder around his entrance.

The next toy is fat and pink, pretty standard fare, but Dean picked this one out because of the slightly metallic shimmer and gently ribbed shaft, said he had one just like it at home. Cain preps it quickly, but before he goes anywhere with it he turns his head to the right and kisses Dean’s bent leg, beard brushing against the soft skin close to the bend of his knee. Dean shifts and his dick twitches against his belly.

“Don’t cheat,” he growls, “Get back to work.”

“You’re ready?”

“Do it.”

Just like the first one, Cain feeds the fake cock into Dean easily, his rim stretching around the bumpy shaft, mesmerizing Cain as he pushes slowly on the base, deeper and deeper, and listens to the gust of air that leaves Dean’s lungs. His stomach muscles tighten beneath Cain’s palm and his cock jerks, starts to fill.

“That’s it, that’s beautiful, Dean,” Cain says as Dean starts to move his hips around, trying to move the toy on his own, “You were made for this, weren’t you?”

Dean replies with a small grunt, pushing the toy out only for Cain to lean the heel of his palm on the base, forcing it all the way back in. He can feel Dean’s heat on his hand, making his wrist sweaty, adding to the slip-slide of lube on his fingers as he pulls the dildo out and angles it just right that the next push tugs a small, wet moan from Dean’s lips. The bed moves as Dean pulls down on the bars, but doesn’t let go.

“Good,” Cain breathes, fucks Dean agonizingly slow on the pink toy. Dean’s cock stands tall and a bead of wetness forms a pearl at the tip, but it’s far, far too early for him to let go, for either of them. As he listens to Dean’s soft breaths, responding to the pressure on his prostate, Cain starts counting backward from a hundred to keep his arousal in check, “You’re doing well.”

“That's because you’re going easy on me,” Dean huffs cockily, “Bring it on.”

Cain looks down at the next in line. It’s navy blue, harshly curved for prostate stimulation, and has a switch on the bottom with three vibration settings. Dean may be writhing like he’s close, but he knows that’s just Dean being Dean, sensitive, reactive, committed. When he looks over the rest of Dean's body, Cain can see that he hasn’t even broken a sweat yet, “As you wish.”

—

There’s lube leaking out of Dean enough that Cain doesn’t really consider it an issue anymore. The towel beneath them is soaked, Dean’s thighs shiny with sweat and his entrance still gasping for the wide shaft of the massive dildo Cain has just laid to the side. Still, Dean hangs on, his cock red and dripping down the shaft into the mess already puddling on his stomach.

His arms hanging tiredly between the bars once more, exhausted from tensing up, like a spring compressed, over and over for the past forty-five minutes. His legs aren’t in much better shape, languishing on the extremely rumpled sheets while he has a moment of reprieve. He cramped up a couple times, flagging Cain to hold on for a moment. Cain massaged his rock hard thighs and calves and as soon as they were soft again, Dean insisted on carrying on each time.

“Excellent,” Cain croaks and sits back on his knees. He’s shirtless between Dean’s legs now and wishes belatedly that Dean could see because he selfishly loves the way Dean’s gaze is drawn to the art on his chest and arms, the way he moves his eyes all over Cain’s body. But this isn’t about him right now. It’s about Dean. It’s always about Dean.

Dean makes a desperate, pleading noise, sweaty, flushed from his navel all the way up to his face. The blindfold remains in place, tied expertly at the back even as Dean thrashed his head around the pillow, two darker spots on the fabric where Dean’s been shedding tears.

Licking his lips with a dry tongue, Cain unzips his trousers, not missing the way Dean seems to regain some of his alertness, and pushes them down just enough for him to take out his aching cock and slip a condom down it. He can't seem himself lasting long, neither of them, and every second that he’s not inside Dean is a threat to his well-honed poise.

“You did well, Dean. I knew you would,” he says hoarsely, and inches closer as Dean wiggles down to meet him, the covered head of his dick sliding without any guidance into Dean’s well-used entrance, the heat slamming into him in a completely different way, “So good.”

Dean whimpers long, low and beautiful as Cain leans into him, the soft heat drawing him in and closing around him like a vice. It’s worth it — it’s always worth it with Dean, for Dean, Cain knows this about the two of them in a way that he’s never felt with anybody else. His hands shake, but when they clamp around Dean’s hips and pull him forward in a single, rough jerk, he reaches that place of clarity and purpose, single-minded desire and fulfilment, and fucks into Dean hard, fast, and unrelenting.

Weak from everything that came before, Dean can’t control the jostling, the movement, can’t gain any leverage as Cain drives into him. He’s all but given up on being anything but a fuck toy by this point, single-mindedly focusing on his task. As Cain’s drapes himself over Dean to lie atop him, chest to chest and maintaining a frenzied pace without losing a single beat, he can feel Dean’s cock hard between them, contained and controlled and never failing.  

“Can you hear me, Dean?” Cain says. Dean’s deep into it, hasn’t said a coherent word for a while, and in spite of Dean’s flippant attitude he misses the sound of his voice, raspy with need.

Dean makes a small noise to confirm.

Bridging himself over Dean, Cain nips at Dean’s lips and watches the way Dean lifts off the pillow for more.

“Talk to me,” he says softly. Dean’s going to make fun of him later for this, but he let go of his shame long ago, “Tell me what it feels like, sweetheart.”

It takes a moment, two more heavy thrusts, for it to register to Dean what Cain wants, his mouth opens with a sticky click, and a harsh breath of air escapes him before he speaks, raw and sore, “Fuckin’ perfect,” it’s more dry breath than sound, “Love this, love your cock. God, fuck me, _fuck-_ ”

Dean came to Cain with a repertoire of crass porno lines that might have worked for other doms, but Cain doesn’t usually get into them. However, he can hear the naked honesty in Dean’s words, the plain begging, and feels pleasure shock low in his body. He’s close, he's right there.

His lips connect with Dean’s fully, ardently, lifting the back of Dean’s head off the pillow, and he manages to sneak in, “Let go of the bed,” before Dean licks his way hungrily into Cain’s mouth, a hand clapping down on the side of Cain’s head so fast and hard he startles, sees lights popping when he blinks.

Dean laughs weakly through his haze and adjusts his grip so he’s cradling Cain’s face around his ear, “Sorry. Can’t see,” he smirks, but it slides off his face with Cain’s next series of thrusts, his mouth open, red, and beautiful.

“Come, Dean. You’ve earned it.”

“Yeah,” is all Dean breathes, his expression, or what Cain can see of it in this light, softens as he lets it happen. It seems contrary, but Dean’s spent so long coiled, taut, controlling what his body yearned for so deeply, that as soon as he has Cain’s permission to stop fighting what he’s been holding back for so long he goes limp. He barely makes a sound as his orgasm sweeps through him and and takes advantage of his loosened, tired muscles, seizing them in a shiver that Cain feels at every point they’re touching.

Cain sits up between Dean’s shaking thighs and slides out of him, a faint noise of protest coming from the head of the bed. Carefully picking up the towel full of used toys, he sets it on the floor and manages to kick his way out of his pants, rather damp with sweat and throws away the condom, always maintaining touch with Dean in what he knows are crucial moments for the younger man.

He settles himself on the bed to lie beside Dean and unties the blindfold. Dean’s eyes are open, wet, and glassy. Red around the edges. Immediately, Dean looks down at Cain’s cock, still mostly hard, “You didn’t—” he starts, almost frantic, but Cain jerks his head and Dean goes quiet.

God, the difference, Cain thinks, almost sadly, for the way Dean clings to him now, eyes wide and imploring as he looks to Cain for some kind of instruction, assurance that he’s doing everything all right. Cain would like to go fetch a cloth to wipe Dean clean and grab a glass of water or juice for him from the kitchen, but leaving now would only crush him.

That’s what this is, he reminds himself, a practice in patience.

“You did everything right, trust me,” he says. Dean’s head lolling against his collarbone, he scratches through his short sweaty hair, listening to the shivery breaths Dean drinks in as he comes down from the high. He feels Dean’s eyelashes blink against his chest.

“Coulda at least let me finish you,” Dean grumbles some more after a long time, like putty in Cain's arms. The smell of sex and sweat is thick, musty, but beneath it all there's still that hint of cut flowers that mingles deliciously with the air in the room. He's still petulant but by his tone, Cain can tell Dean will be fine, so he listens to him babble and moves his thumb in circles on Dean's shoulder, “I’m gonna do it. Tomorrow morning, I’m gonna give you the best blow job you've ever had. Right here, before we even get out of bed. I'm gonna fucking do it."


End file.
